


Two Tales of Bondage: Emergent

by Tierra469



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, First Kiss, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rainy Days, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group Bingo 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Tales of Bondage - one light and one dark. This one, light.</p><p>When Rick finally realized that he wasn’t being subtly and masterfully seduced, but was instead witnessing Daryl’s overdue and awkward sexual awakening, he felt amazed and humbled… and scared shitless. Taking place in a stolen moment in the prison, set during early Season 4. </p><p>I do not own The Walking Dead, and none of these characters are my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Tales of Bondage: Emergent

The storm finally seemed to be moving away; thunder no longer rattled the prison windows or shook the floor with a bang following each bolt of lightning. Rick kept on humming, kept pacing the small prison cell up and back, up and back, three steps each way, bouncing lightly with each step, feeling the weight of his little daughter grow heavier on his shoulder with each lap. Finally, thank God, she stopped fussing and fell asleep. Her tiny breaths puffed warmly against the side of his neck.

Still humming softly, he bent and placed Judi gently into the crib at the end of his bunk; he winced as thunder rumbled again, but she didn’t budge, and he covered her up and backed away with a sigh of relief. Standing tall and stretching, he took in the other sounds of the cell block on this rainy afternoon. A small group played cards around a table at the far end of the block. Someone was cleaning a gun, or some other equipment. Everyone else was probably sleeping; a stormy afternoon was a great excuse to escape guilt-free into a private space and catch up on a book, or take a nap. Or both.

Though there were plenty of chores still to be done, Rick decided to indulge in a little rest himself. He peeled off his boots and stretched out on his bunk, picking up the paperback that lay next to his bed—some John Grisham novel that he’d barely started. He managed to find the page he’d left off on, but it was a strain to see the print in the dim light. Come to think of it, reading had been a strain lately in any light. Was he really old enough to need reading glasses? He sighed and laid the book on his chest, closing his eyes.

Thunder rolled across the landscape again, rain sheeted against the high windows, and Rick’s mind wandered outside of his prison confines. Daryl and Michonne were out there somewhere, hunting for the Governor. He wished he could release his mind in his sleep, like Noah’s dove, to find them. Safe and dry. Out of the rain. Mission accomplished.

Rainy days always made him a little wistful, a little sentimental. A little horny, anymore. Come to think of it, rainy days were the days that Daryl came to him.

***

He must have drifted into a sound sleep, because he was dreaming of raising his arms over his head when he realized his arms really were being lifted. A drop of cold water falling on his nose woke him up the rest of the way.

“Hey,” he muttered softly, “what the…” He opened his eyes to see Daryl backing away to stand in the middle of the cell, removing his jacket and vest. Daryl hung the items on an empty hook above where he’d propped his crossbow, then turned to close the privacy curtain across the door, dimming the room’s light even further.

“Sorry, man,” Daryl rasped, and Rick’s heart warmed to hear his low, sandpaper drawl again. “Got caught in the downpour an’ soaked to the skin. You got a shirt I can borrow?”

“Well, not a clean one, but… yeah.” He moved to point to the back corner of the room and realized then that his wrists had been bound behind his head to the bunk. By fuzzy, purple handcuffs.

“What the hell is _this?_ You spend the night in an adult toy store or somethin’?”

Daryl didn’t answer; just simply stripped down to his birthday suit, dropping his sodden clothes in a heap. He shook his head like a dog, and Rick felt droplets of rain from the man’s hair patter over his body. Daryl stepped over to the wooden chair at the rear of the cell and tugged Rick’s dirty shirt off the back of it, then tried to shove his arms into the sleeves and pull it on. The material stretched tightly across his broad back.

“Hey, don’t rip it…” Rick cautioned.

His friend grunted and pulled the garment back off, then reached up to the top bunk to grab Rick’s extra blanket. As Daryl turned, silhouetted in the light from the doorway, Rick thought he could see the man’s glistening erection pointing skyward. He pretended not to notice. Daryl draped the blanket over his shoulders, then ducked into the bunk where Rick lay, nudging Rick’s legs apart to kneel between them.

“Just spent all day on that damn bike,” Daryl mumbled. “All rumblin’ and thrummin’ between my legs, vibratin’ an’ shit. Got kinda hot and bothered after a while.”

“That so?” Rick murmured.

“Yeah. Kept thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

Rick could just see Daryl’s eyes glittering in the dim light, most of his face and body in shadow, especially with the blanket hanging from his shoulders. He could see, though, that Daryl’s hand had moved to his groin, and from the sound of skin sliding against skin, he knew that Daryl had begun masturbating himself. The smell of the man came to him—unwashed and male, a little funky and a lot heady. Like his own aroma, but different.

“What were you thinkin’?” Rick asked nonchalantly, feeling himself stir a little below.

“Mmmph. Thinkin’ ‘bout last time we got off…”

Rick chuckled. “I don’ know if now is a good time to do it again.”

“I know but… everyone’s crashed an’… feels like I’m gonna die…”

“Nobody ever really died of that.”

Daryl ignored that statement and slowly continued his self-pleasuring. Rick took a deep breath and tried to stay in the moment. Being handcuffed while a man stared at him and jerked off made him a bit uneasy, he had to admit. But this was Daryl, and he’d been accompanying Daryl on this strange little sexual trip for several months now. That generally meant trusting—and God knew he trusted Daryl with his very life—staying present, and going with the flow. Which meant allowing himself to sample and enjoy things he might once have found unthinkable—if not unhealthy and immoral. The fact that he _was_ enjoying these things with Daryl made him wonder about himself sometimes. But with morals now being as changeable and slippery as politicians, and available women scarcer than hens’ teeth, it was easy to dismiss self-loathing and recrimination as a waste of time—and just enjoy the feeling of another person’s hand on his dick.

He sometimes imagined the last occupant of his prison bunk might have come to the same conclusion.

***

Their first few encounters had left Rick feeling like he was being stalked by the pesky little brother he couldn’t ditch. A rainy morning or afternoon, a few minutes peace on a long errand—a far-off hallway, the dark end of the library, the watchtower. Dick in hand, Rick would be halfway to nirvana when Daryl would materialize like a ghost beside him and silently join him in jerking off. The first time, Daryl was smart enough not to step up close until Rick was practically there—otherwise he might have lost his boner to the surprise. The second time, it was almost a joke—a boyish contest. Sidling up, Daryl gave him a side-eye smirk and cranked himself hard, and Rick understood immediately that it was a race to the finish. He chuckled and wordlessly accepted the challenge—reckoning maybe it was some kind of hillbilly bonding ritual.

Their trysts were sometimes days, sometimes weeks apart, but had grown incrementally intimate, and the residual effects bled slowly into their daily life in the prison. There were subtle but intense stares across the common room, and small gifts left in Rick’s cell—fresh batteries, a can of sardines. Daryl began to touch him more than just occasionally, but at first only in front of others. Smart, Rick figured, since he was less likely to feel threatened or reject Daryl’s affection in front of, say Carl, or Maggie. Those touches were nonsexual, but Rick could feel the energy behind them—tentative, testing. Tender.

Then came the drizzly afternoon up in the tower when Daryl stopped Rick’s hand with a soft _hey…_ and produced a tube of lube from his back pocket. He squirted a dollop into his palm, showing it to Rick, and canted his head, lifting his eyebrows. Rick looked from Daryl’s palm to his face and nodded—figuring Daryl would hand him the tube to share. Instead, Daryl stepped up close and wrapped that palm around Rick’s cock. Rick sucked a breath in through his teeth, surprised, and Daryl looked into his wide eyes and gave him a shy smile.

“Sorry ‘s a little cold,” he’d apologized, then proceeded to thoroughly work Rick over. Rick remembered trying to put his hands on Daryl’s shoulders, to touch his chest, and the way Daryl stopped momentarily, wincing slightly, and brushed his touch away. Rick got the message.

When Rick finally realized that he wasn’t being subtly and masterfully seduced, but was instead witnessing Daryl’s overdue and awkward sexual awakening, he felt amazed and humbled… and scared shitless. Scared of letting Daryl down. Of saying or doing the wrong thing, betraying his friend’s trust and frightening him back into hiding. Daryl’s outward demeanor tended to be cool, calm, collected and competent—but sexually, the man was an emotional fun-house full of twists and turns, trapdoors and tiger pits, strange taboos and random rules that made little sense in the light of day. Rick suspected there were a few evil clowns hiding in there as well.

Somehow Daryl had kept his sexual self imprisoned his whole life… until now. Maybe it didn’t matter why—Rick had no doubt there was a laundry list of reasons, from Merle’s bullying to bad luck—it just mattered now that Rick was a patient midwife to this new and fragile thing being born.

***

“I missed you,” Daryl said to him softly.

“Missed you too, man,” Rick answered. “So… why the handcuffs?” Rick figured he knew perfectly well why, but wanted to see if Daryl would be forthcoming.

“So you ain’t tempted to touch me,” Daryl said simply. “An’ you don’ have to…”

Rick sighed, and Daryl’s hand stilled as their eyes connected. “You do know that I’d really like to… don’t you?” Rick asked gently.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I’ve started dreamin’ about you, y’know. About you and I doin’… stuff. Had a wet dream t’other night while you were gone. I think my mind is like… you know… tryin’ this stuff on.”

Daryl smirked and let out a pleased-sounding grunt, but he made no move to remove the cuffs. Instead, he reached out and unbuttoned Rick’s shirt, letting it fall open, then unfastened and unzipped Rick’s jeans and carefully pulled his half-hard dick out.

“What’sa matter?” Daryl murmured, sounding a little hurt, fingering Rick’s floppy cock.

“I dunno. I’m a little nervous, I guess.” Rick replied. “I’m thinkin’ someone like Carl could just walk in here and see me in purple handcuffs with my dick hangin’ out.”

“Hmmph. Just gotta trust me, Rick. I’ll take care a’ you.” Then he added, a little less sure of himself, “You really want me to take ‘em off?”

Rick forced himself to smile. “Naw… it’s ok. Not just yet.”

Daryl leaned over Rick, propping an arm next to his hip, and began to fondle him in earnest, stopping to spit into his hand now and then. Rick could feel the man’s eyes wandering over his body, wanting. His cock couldn’t help but respond.

“Y’know what would really feel good right now?” Rick murmured after a couple minutes of the rough pulling and tugging.

“Hmm?”

“Your mouth on my dick.”

Daryl stilled again, sitting up and back on his haunches. He looked hard at Rick, and Rick could see him pull his lower lip between his teeth and begin to worry it. Rick could visualize the skittish colt of Daryl’s mind galloping in circles, eyeing him, wanting to trust despite his instincts.

Daryl gave a little jerk of the head. “Think I’d prob’ly be shit at it.”

“No you wouldn’t. It ain’t rocket science, it’s just a dick. You’ve got one, too.”

Daryl just stared, chewing that lip.

Rick decided to pull out his secret weapon. “Please, Daryl,” he begged in a throaty voice. “You got me all tied up here and teasin’ me an’ I…  I want you. If you took my cock in your mouth… y’know, licked me and sucked me an’ ran your lips up an’ down the shaft… made me cum on that tongue… I do believe I’d lose my religion.”

 _“Shit,_ Rick,” Daryl muttered. “You know I cain’t stand it when you start talkin’ dirty.”

“You wouldn’t have to swallow my jizz…”

“But I would,” he blurted.

Rick felt his heart beat a little faster. “Show me,” he whispered.

Daryl gave him a little nod, and Rick closed his eyes and waited. The sensations came slowly at first—Daryl’s tongue lapping its tentative way up his length, once, twice, three times. Lips kissing him sweetly on the glans. Tongue exploring the slit, then mouth sucking gently, gently at the tip, milking him of his precum.

“Mmm,” Daryl purred against him, sounding surprised. “I like how you taste.”

“Taste me some more…”

“Keep talkin’ to me, Rick. Tell me what ta do. Talk dirty.”

So Rick told him—whispered just how he wanted Daryl to take him in, take him all into his mouth so deep and then pull off slow at first, sucking hard, _watch those teeth,_ then add your hand, get some slick, speed it up, _hell yeah—_ and Daryl was a quick study, though he had to stop from time to time to hear what Rick was saying, because _oh holy fuck_ Daryl was making some sloppy wet noises around Rick’s cock and _mmmm_ soft moans that vibrated deliciously through both of their bodies.

Rick was soon quivering with pleasure, panting like a dog, arching and writhing as Daryl’s warm, wet mouth and hand worked in unison to make him come entirely undone.

“Oh shit, Daryl,” he panted. “Ohfuckdon’tstop, I’mgonnacum, yermakin’mecum…”

Daryl sucked like a damn Shopvac, and Rick suddenly saw stars—it was all he could do not to shout and shatter those stupid plastic purple handcuffs as he convulsed with bliss for what felt like minutes on end.

Eventually, through his haze, Rick felt Daryl release his cock and crawl up the length of his body, pressing close. One bare thigh thrown over his, warm and trembling. He opened his eyes to meet Daryl’s dark and determined gaze, just as the man spat a mouthful of hot jism into his palm, then slipped the hand between his legs to work it into his erection.

They’d never been this close before, and Rick was surprised by his sudden urge to hold Daryl’s naked body as the man rubbed his hard cock against Rick’s softening one, moving his cum-slicked hand faster and faster between them, holding Rick’s gaze until he couldn’t anymore. Daryl finally buried his bristly face in Rick’s sweaty neck and whimpered, coming all over Rick’s lap.

***

Daryl lay heavy and half-atop him for a time, seemingly satiated—or perhaps stunned. Rick felt his friend’s fingers begin drawing tiny circles in his chest hair; his warm nose nuzzle against Rick’s neck. The smell of Daryl’s body—sweating and still half-under the wool blanket—rose humidly into the room as if he were steaming. The tang of his armpits, the musk of his balls, the oily, earthy, woodsmoke-and-cigarette scent of his hair. Their semen. A hint of pine, or perhaps turpentine. Rick inhaled deeply and sighed—he found Daryl so aromatically intriguing.

“Tell me more ‘bout yer sex dream,” Daryl murmured in his ear, clearly enjoying their cuddle. “What did we do?”

“Mmm,” Rick purred. “Well, one night I dreamed we were fucking, and we could both fuck each other at the same time. It felt so damn good, I wrecked my shorts in my sleep.”

Daryl chuckled. “Like a coupla fuckin’ worms.”

“What?”

“Worms. Y’know. Worms got both parts, can fuck each other at the same time.”

“Hell, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now ya do. Learn somethin’ every day, huh?”

Daryl lifted himself on an elbow, and Rick looked up at him. “So can worms kiss?” he blurted.

Daryl crooked an eyebrow, which Rick could only see thanks to a flash of lightning through the curtain. A gust of wind splattered rain against the cell block windows again—another storm cell moving in.

“Ain’t got lips,” Daryl answered.

A moment later, to his surprise, Rick felt the soft press of Daryl’s mouth against his, quick and Spartan and a little stiff. Daryl’s fingertips brushed his face and lingered there a moment.

Rick smiled in the dark.

Somewhere down the cell block, voices grew louder. A couple chairs scraped, and Rick could hear the card game breaking up. Then, footsteps echoing down the hall—one set coming closer with purpose. Thunder rumbled and banged, and Judith let out a snuffly grunt.

“Glenn’s comin’,” Daryl whispered, stiffening.

“Shit… uncuff me.”

“Uh…” Daryl sat up and leaned over the bed, reaching for his pants on the floor.

“Hurry up, man,” Rick hissed, starting to feel a little panicky.

Daryl rummaged a moment longer, then gave up and jumped off the bed onto the floor. “Don’ worry,” he said in a stage whisper, “I got this.”

Rick gritted his teeth. If Glenn came into the cell now, he was fucked—fastened to the bed with fuzzy purple handcuffs, his shirt and pants hanging open and his crotch a sticky puddle. Daryl hadn’t even bothered to cover him.

Daryl stood silhouetted in the doorway just inside the curtain, blocking any outside view of the cell. The blanket still hung off his shoulders, but only reached to his lower back—his ass bare to the world. Glenn’s voice called softly from outside the doorway.

“Uh, Rick—you awake?”

“Yeah,” Rick replied.

“C’mon in,” Daryl said.

Glenn yanked the curtain back, and Rick heard his surprised intake of breath. Daryl looked over his shoulder at Glenn, and Rick could just see his smirk in the fading light. “Jus’ borrowin’ some dry clothes,” he said.

“Oh… shit… hey… SHIT! Daryl! You asshole!” The curtain jerked back into place, and Rick had to stifle a snort of laughter.

Daryl knelt and fished the handcuff key out of his pants pocket, then quickly released Rick from his bondage. “Now you gotta give me some dry trousers,” he whispered.

“Shit… you really are an asshole,” Rick teased, handing him his only dry pair of jeans, and accepting the wet shoprag Daryl proffered in exchange.

Daryl yanked Rick’s jeans on, shoved his feet into his boots and pulled on his vest, then shouldered his crossbow and bundled the rest of his wet clothes into his arms. He nodded at Rick and turned to go, but Rick grabbed his shoulder gently and tugged.

“You forgot these,” he whispered, tucking the purple handcuffs into Daryl’s bundle. “And this.” And he leaned forward and kissed Daryl—very softly—on the lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please comment - I live for it! Can't wait for Sunday! Looking for the second tale? It's posted separately.


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